The echo of silence

 

The over stay in anticipation

Of the same tune and song

The deafening crescendo

There is a deafening echo

Of dying silence instead

Like the darkness that grows

After a prolonged morning

That one awaits till dusk

A treasured empty holder

Of a perfume lost to vapor of time

A brush rubbed on dried pallette

Scratched on a completed canvas

A fire that has died long back

But chooses to smoulder

Like a pyre instead.

 

Delhi

2.3.24

00.18 hrs

2129